


familiarity never dies

by donutcats



Category: Dark Matter (TV)
Genre: M/M, and Three being all gruff but vaguely caring, for whatever reason I just enjoy writing about injured One, it's a weakness ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4529703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutcats/pseuds/donutcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the first time, Two doesn’t team One and Three together.</p>
<p>she doesn’t regret the decision at all, or well, not until later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	familiarity never dies

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely the shortest thing I've written, but I was still so proud of it that I wanted to post it. 
> 
> I think I might just have a need for asshole boyfriends that are terrible to each other, but it's their own brand of terrible that somehow translates into caring about each other. At least, that's the feeling I get every time I write about these two.

They’re standing around, waiting for Two to divide them into teams, to send them off so they can cover more ground, and for the first time she doesn’t put One and Three together.

Normally, it’s not even a discussion, Three and One just start walking before she gets the chance to name everyone off. This time though, they stand on opposite sides of the hallway, waiting for her word.

So, she sends Six off with Three and motions for One to go ahead of her.

Two doesn’t have to point out the reason behind the different teams, not to One at least. He knows it’s because of their talk, about Derrick Moss and possible identity theft to help with an assassination.

He doesn’t say anything about it though, not a thank you, or a ‘you made the right choice’, as she falls into step beside him, hand resting at her hip, near her holster, but she doesn’t need the affirmation to know it was the right choice.

All they needed was One and Three getting into another fist fight, all because One didn’t know how to control his anger and self-righteousness.

She doesn’t regret the decision at all, or well, not until later.

Not until One is slumped against a wall, hand pressed to his left side, red seeping into her vision as she broadcasts their coords to the other crewmembers in a clipped tone, her own hands trying to stem the bleeding.

All the way to the Marauder, to the Raza, to the infirmary, Two tells herself injuries happen, that he’s going to live. If she panicked over every wound that happened to her crew she would never feel any other emotions.

So, she tamps it down, let’s herself feel at the least worried. Worry is better than panic. Everyone is worried. Except the Android, with her cool practised hands.

A little after that, when One is sitting on the examination table, frowning at the Android, at the burn of the medical foam shot directly into his wound, the regret starts bubbling up again.

It starts with Five’s voice, curiously asking what happened.

One speaks up before Two can, his vowels strained as the Android continues to poke at him. “They just, came out of nowhere. I didn’t notice until it was too late.”

“By too late, he means already bleeding.”

One gives her a look, and she just returns it. Because this is what she’s good at, dry humor and blunt truths.

The regret sharply claws into her ribs when Three speaks up, “Let me guess, you were on his right side when it happened.”

She wonders what he’s trying to get at, in his weird ‘only faces certain situations head on’ way, but Two still replies. “How’d you know?”

This makes Three huff, mouth pressing into a thin line, “because, I’m normally on his left, so the bastard doesn’t cover it at all.” He ignores One’s glare, continues talking, “Also, his reaction time is shit-”

“My reaction time is just fine, thank you very much!” One grits his teeth as he leans forward, trying to get in Three’s space, but Three doesn’t back away, if anything he takes a step closer.

“Actually, your reflexes are off by 1.16 seconds. Which, in the heat of a battle, can prove to be a problem.” The Android offers.

Three grins, delighted at having his point proven. One glares back.

Two is about to speak up, to cut into their staring contest, when Three’s grin slips from his face.

“Which gun were you using?”

“How does that have _anything_ to do with-”

“Was it Bane? Why weren’t you using your pistol?”

“First of all, I told you to stop naming my guns. Second-”

“I was using his usual pistol.” Two cuts him off. If she lets them continue down this road of bickering back and forth, nothing was going to get solved.   
  
“ _What?_ Why?” He’s getting angry, and Two doesn’t understand why. It’s just a gun.

She squares her shoulders, refuses to back down to Three. “Because, I ran out of ammo, so I asked if I could use his. Is there a problem with that?”

Three doesn’t answer right away, instead his hand darts out, towards One. His fingers quickly undo the straps on One’s thigh holster, and then he’s pulling out the weapon that’s larger than One’s normal gun. The one sitting against Two’s own hip.

“This thing jams up, all the damn time.” His fingers are working again, roughly taking apart the gun, pieces clattering against the metal table, next to One. “I keep telling him to get rid of it, but for whatever stupid reason, he refuses.” The pieces slot back together, as quickly as they were taken apart. Everyone in the room is watching him work, even One, eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you think I named it Bane? It’s the Bane of my fucking existence.”

With one last piece snapping into place, Three points the muzzle at One’s thigh, and without missing a beat he pulls the trigger. There’s multiple shouts, even Two finds herself lunging forward, but instead of a gunshot reverberating through her body there’s just a vaguely muffled, empty sounding click.

“See? Jammed. No matter what you do.”

One looks like all the color has been drained out of him, eyes glued to the spot on his leg where the gun was just pressing against. “You could have shot me!”

The gun slides along the table, bumping into One’s hip. “Nah, when I shoot you, it’s not going to be with a piece of shit weapon.”

Two stands there, watching as the color seems to burst back to life along One’s skin, as he rears up for a fight.

“Well when I shoot you, it’ll definitely be right between the eyes.” One leans forward even more, reaching out to hit Three’s shoulder with the heel of his hand. Whatever else he was going to say dies on his tongue, as even Two notices Three wince. “What happened to _you_?”

“Nothing, I’m fine. Don’t change the subject because you’re realizing you could _never_ kill me.”

“Three’s shoulder was dislocated, relocated on the spot- which I will tell you again, I highly do not recommend, and there seems to be bruising along his jaw.” The Android ignores Three, directing her answer at One.

“Gee, thanks for the doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“I am not a certified Doctor.”  

One’s hand curls around Three’s bicep, the non-injured one, fingers digging hard enough to make Three snarl at One. “You’re a hypocrite.”

The tips of Two’s fingers feel like they’re tingling, and realization begins to take up residence where the regret previously was.

“I didn’t notice until it was too late.” Three mirrors the piss poor line back at him, and if possible both of their frowns become tighter.

One turns to Six, “were you with him?”

It’s Six’s turn to square his shoulders, to not back down from a glare. “No, we split up. I wanted to go one way, he wanted to go the other, so we did.”

“Are you serious? You never leave Three alone! Either you drag him with you or you just, follow him and complain the whole way so he regrets his decision the entire time.”

“God knows you’re an expert at that,” Three mumbles.

“That’s how you got your ass handed to you, wasn’t it? There wasn’t anyone behind you to shoot whoever decked you.”

“I did not get my ass handed to me, thank you very much. I take offense to that statement, actually.”

Two organizes her thoughts, finds her voice, as she comes to a decision. “From now on, I don’t care what happens between the two of you, but you will be paired up when need be. Other teams can change, but you’re permanent. We don’t need a repeat of what happened today.”

If looks could kill, One would be taking pot shots at her about now, and Three just looks like he’s mildly put out by the whole idea.

But, One’s hand hasn’t moved from Three’s arm, and Three’s fingers have found their way to fiddle with one of the holster straps at One’s thigh.

So, Two doesn’t need any affirmation to know it was the right choice.

 


End file.
